What a fucking day

Fuck them bitches.

I swear to god it has been a day.

Opposing counsel tried to trip me up on discovery—apparently there was something else I was “supposed” to send first that nobody bothered to make clear. Fine. Whatever. So I scramble, fix it, get it out.

And then—of course—now it’s a problem.

Now suddenly she won’t accept it and wants a “telephone conference.”

Oh, that’ll go great. Because nothing says productive legal discourse like putting me on a live call when I’m already at a ten and she knows it. That’s not about resolving anything—that’s about control. That’s about dragging this out and seeing if I’ll crack.

And here’s the thing—I know myself.

When I get pushed like this, I don’t come off as “passionate.” I come off as intimidating. People think I’m yelling when I’m not. They think I’m being aggressive when I’m just… speaking. And once it does escalate? Yeah. It’s not pretty.

So no. I need to stay the fuck behind a keyboard right now. That’s not avoidance—that’s strategy.

Because this? This is exactly what they’re doing.

Delay. Frustrate. Provoke.

Make it just hard enough, just chaotic enough, that I either:

1. screw something up procedurally, or
2. react emotionally in a way they can point to later

And I can see it happening in real time, which somehow makes it even more infuriating.

She’s asking for things I’ve already given. As usual.

Now it just needs to be in a different format. Of course it does.

And then there’s the rest of it—the requests.

My therapist. My taxes. My entire life under a microscope so they can build the same tired defense:

That I lost jobs for reasons unrelated to him.

That my psychological issues were “preexisting.”

That I only reported him because we broke up.

That’s the story they want.

And I can see it coming from a mile away.

But here’s what actually happened.

I didn’t report him because we broke up.

I reported him because something snapped into place that I couldn’t unsee.

There’s this piece they’re conveniently skipping—

the part where I talked to her.

The part where everything shifted.

Because if that hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have gone back and watched the video the way I did.

And if I hadn’t watched the video like that?

I would have done what I had already decided to do:

suck it up.

deal with it.

stay quiet.

Not because it was okay—but because I was that attached.

That’s the part people don’t understand unless they’ve lived it.

I knew something was wrong. Logically, I could see it.

But emotionally? I felt like I couldn’t breathe without him.

That’s trauma bonding.

Not in some abstract, academic way—

in a very real, very physical, “I know this is bad and I still can’t leave” kind of way.

So I wasn’t planning some retaliation.

I was trying to untangle myself slowly because I didn’t think I could survive just ripping it off all at once.

I told him on July 4th I wanted to forgive him.

And I meant it.

We hurt each other. We don’t mean to. Whatever version of that I said—I was trying to make sense of something that didn’t make sense.

But I was already unraveling.

I remember my parents being concerned because I was literally growling when I talked.

I remember looking at the email list—tilting my head, trying to decide who to send it to next like I wasn’t even fully inside myself.

And I remember this feeling—this very specific, bizarre feeling—like I was that liquid terminator from Terminator 2: Judgment Day.

That scene where it turns into the foster mom and the finger becomes a knife.

That’s what it felt like.

Cold. Mechanical. Not human. Just… executing.

Which makes no sense. I know that.

But that’s how it felt.

That’s where I was mentally.

I wasn’t okay.

And whatever was holding everything together? It broke.

Completely.

I was dealing with the unthinkable.

I had been raped by the man I loved.

I had literally watched it happen to me.

And then I had to sit there and understand that.

Process it. Accept it.

How the fuck do you even begin to do that?

How do you take something your brain refused to process in real time and suddenly just… absorb it like it’s normal information?

You don’t. Not cleanly. Not rationally.

And the only person I had—the only person I felt safe with—was him.

The same man who did it.

And he refused  

Even after I tried to explain it. Even after I told him I needed him—not in some romantic, clingy way, but because my brain was trying to survive something it didn’t know how to survive.

I needed him so I could process what he had done to me.

Yeah. It’s twisted.

It makes no sense on paper.

But that is exactly what trauma bonding is.

It’s not love. It’s not logic.

It’s dependency wired through trauma.

It’s like an addiction.

I couldn’t feel safe without him.

Even though he was the one who made me unsafe in the first place.

That’s the part people want to ignore because it’s uncomfortable.

But that’s the truth

So no—this wasn’t some calculated move after a breakup.

This was what happens when your brain finally processes something it couldn’t handle in real time.

This was what happens when denial stops working.

This was what happens when trauma catches up with you all at once.

Call it whatever you want.

But don’t call it a lie.